THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE   BUILDERS   AND 
OTHER   POEMS 


BUILDERS 
AND  OTHER. 
POEMS4»BY 


\ANDYKE 


Charles  Scribncr's  Sons 
NewYork   MDCCCXCVffl 


Copyright,  1897,  by  Charles  Scribner's  Sons 


PS 
CONTENTS 


SONGS   OUT   OF   DOORS 

"Wings  of  a  Dove  3 

The  Parting  and  the  Coming  Guest  4 

An  Angler's  Wish  6 

The  After-Echo  10 

Matins  u 

The  Fall  of  the  Leaves  12 

A  Snow-Song  15 

If  all  the  Skies  16 

On  the  Glacier  17 

Alpine  Solitude  18 

Roslin  and  Hawthornden  19 

FOUR   BIRDS  AND  A   FLOWER 

The  Song-Sparrow  23 

The  Maryland  Yellow-Throat  25 

The  Whip-poor-will  27 

The  Veery  29 

The  Lily  of  Yorrow  31 

LYRICS  OF  FRIENDSHIP  AND  FAITH 

Tennyson  35 

A  Ballad  of  Claremont  Hill  36 

Four  Things  39 

The  Rendezvous  40 

Transformation  41 
To  My  Lady  Graygown  :  with  a  Handful 

of  Verses  42 

"  Rappelle-Toi  "  43 

"  Du  bist  wie  eine  Blume  "  44 

"  Ein  Fichtenbaum  steht  einsam  "  45 

"  In  Memoriam  "  46 
Inscription  for  the  Window  of  Katrina's 

Tower  at  "  Yaddo  "  47 


1051944 


Page 

The  Prison  and  the  Angel 

Santa  Christina 

Joy  and  Duty 

Love  and  Light  5* 

of  the  Northmen  at  the  Thunder- 
Oak 

Chant  of  the  Magi  at  the  Fire-Altar 
Song  of  a  Pilgrim-Soul  57 

A  Babe  Among  the  Stars 
To  the  Child  Jesus  59 

The  Bargain 
The  Master's  Voice 
Bitter  Sweet 

The  Way  64 

The  Arrow  °5 

The  Great  River 
Mercy  for  Armenia  "7 

THE   BUILDERS 

I  The  Creative  Spirit  71 

II  The  Wind  of  Death  72 

III  The  Voice  of  Life  73 

IV  A  Master-Builder  74 
V   Seas  of  Darkness  75 

VI  The  Beacon  77 

VII  Storms  of  Battle  78 

VIII  The  Fortress  79 

IX  Amor  Patriae  81 

X  The  Temple  84 

XI  A  Solemn  Music  85 

XII  The  Builders'  Hymn  86 


vi 


SONGS   OUT  OF   DOORS 


WINGS  OF  A  DOVE 

i 

AT  sunset,  when  the  rosy  light  was  dying 
"•     Far  down  the  pathway  of  the  west, 
I  saw  a  lonely  dove  in  silence  flying, 
To  be  at  rest. 

Pilgrim  of  air,  I  cried,  could  I  but  borrow 

Thy  wandering  wings,  thy  freedom  blest, 
I  'd  fly  away  from  every  careful  sorrow, 
And  find  my  rest. 


II 
But  when  the  dusk  a  filmy  veil  was  weaving, 

Back  came  the  dove  to  seek  her  nest 
Deep  in  the  forest  where  her  mate  was  griev- 
ing,— 

There  was  true  rest. 

Peace,  heart  of  mine  !  no  longer  sigh  to  wander; 

Lose  not  thy  life  in  fruitless  quest. 
There  are  no  happy  islands  over  yonder ; 
Come  home  and  rest. 


THE  PARTING  AND  THE  COMING  GUEST 

"VVTHO  watched  the  worn-out  Winter  die  ? 
W    Who,  peering  through  the  dripping  pane 
At  nightfall,  under  sleet  and  rain, 

Saw  the  old  graybeard  totter  by  ? 

Who  listened  to  his  parting  sigh, 
The  sobbings  of  his  feeble  breath, 
His  whispered  colloquy  with  Death, 
And  when  his  all  of  life  was  done 

Stood  near  to  bid  a  last  good-bye  ? 
Of  all  his  former  friends  not  one 

Saw  the  forsaken  Winter  die. 


Who  welcomed  in  the  maiden  Spring  ? 
Who  heard  her  footfalls,  swift  and  light 
As  fairies  stepping  through  the  night ; 

Or  guessed  what  happy  dawn  would  bring 

The  first  flash  of  her  blue-bird's  wing, 
The  first  sight  of  her  mayflower-face 
To  brighten  every  shady  place  ? 
One  morning,  down  the  village  street, 

"  Oh,  here  am  I,"  we  heard  her  sing,  — 
And  none  had  been  awake  to  greet 

The  coming  of  the  maiden  Spring. 


But  look,  her  violet  eyes  are  wet 
With  bright,  unfallen,  dewy  tears ; 
And  in  her  song  my  fancy  hears 

A  note  of  sorrow  trembling  yet. 

Perhaps,  outside  the  town,  she  met 
Old  Winter  as  he  limped  away 
To  die  forlorn,  and  let  him  lay 
His  weary  head  upon  her  knee 

And  rest  awhile,  and  felt  regret 

For  one  so  gray  and  friendless,  —  see, 

Her  tender  eyes  with  tears  are  wet. 

And  so,  by  night,  while  we  were  all  at  rest, 
I  think  the  coming  sped  the  parting  guest. 


AN  ANGLER'S  WISH 

i 

"VYTHEN  tulips  bloom  in  Union  Square, 
W    And  timid  breaths  of  vernal  air 

Go  wandering  down  the  dusty  town, 
Like  children  lost  in  Vanity  Fair ; 

When  every  long,  unlovely  row 
Of  westward  houses  stands  aglow, 

And  leads  the  eyes  toward  sunset  skies 
Beyond  the  hills  where  green  trees  grow 

Then  weary  seems  the  street  parade, 
And  weary  books,  and  weary  trade  : 
I  'm  only  wishing  to  go  a-fishing ; 
For  this  the  month  of  May  was  made. 


II 

I  guess  the  pussy-willows  now 
Are  creeping  out  on  every  bough 
Along  the  brook  ;  and  robins  look 

For  early  worms  behind  the  plough. 

The  thistle-birds  have  changed  their  dun, 
For  yellow  coats,  to  match  the  sun ; 

And  in  the  same  array  of  flame 
The  Dandelion  Show  's  begun. 

The  flocks  of  young  anemones 

Are  dancing  round  the  budding  trees  : 

Who  can  help  wishing  to  go  a-fishing 
In  days  as  full  of  joy  as  these  ? 


Ill 

I  think  the  meadow-lark's  clear  sound 
Leaks  upward  slowly  from  the  ground, 
While  on  the  wing,  the  bluebirds  ring 
Their  wedding-bells  to  woods  around. 

The  flirting  chewink  calls  his  dear 
Behind  the  bush  ;  and  very  near, 

Where  water  flows,  where  green  grass  grows, 
Song-sparrows  gently  sing,  "  Good  cheer." 

And,  best  of  all,  through  twilight's  calm 
The  hermit-thrush  repeats  his  psalm. 

How  much  I  'm  wishing  to  go  a-fishing 
In  days  so  sweet  with  music's  balm  ! 


IV 

'T  is  not  a  proud  desire  of  mine  ; 
I  ask  for  nothing  superfine  ; 

No  heavy  weight,  no  salmon  great, 
To  break  the  record,  or  my  line  : 

Only  an  idle  little  stream, 

Whose  amber  waters  softly  gleam, 

Where  I  may  wade,  through  woodland  shade, 
And  cast  the  fly,  and  loaf,  and  dream : 


Only  a  trout  or  two,  to  dart 

From  foaming  pools,  and  try  my  art : 

No  more  I  'm  wishing — old-fashioned  fishing, 
And  just  a  day  on  Nature's  heart. 


THE  AFTER-ECHO 

"MXDW  the  long  echoes  die  away 
*^     Along  the  shores  of  silence,  as  a  wave, 
Retreating,  circles  down  the  sand  ; 
And  one  by  one,  with  sweet  delay, 
The  mellow  sounds  that  cliff  and  island  gave, 
Have  lingered  in  the  crescent  bay, 
Until,  by  lightest  breezes  fanned, 
They  float  far  off  into  the  dying  day, 
And  all  is  still  as  death. 

But  listen!  hark, — 
A  slender,  wavering  breath 
Comes  from  the  border  of  the  dark ; 

A  note  as  clear  and  slow 
As  falls  from  some  enchanted  bell, 
Or  spirit,  passing  from  the  world  below, 
That  whispers  back,  Farewell. 

So  in  the  heart, 
When,  fading  slowly  down  the  past, 

Fond  memories  depart, 
And  each  that  leaves  it  seems  the  last ; 
Long  after  all  the  rest  are  flown, 
Comes  back  a  well-remembered  tone, — 
The  after-echo  of  departed  years, 
And  touches  all  the  soul  to  tears. 


10 


MATINS 


when  the  night  is  done, 
Lift  their  heads  to  greet  the  sun  ; 
Sweetest  looks  and  odours  raise, 
In  a  silent  hymn  of  praise. 

So  my  heart  would  turn  away 
From  the  darkness  to  the  day  ; 
Lying  open,  in  God's  sight, 
As  a  flower  in  the  light. 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  LEAVES 

i 

TN  warlike  pomp,  with  banners  streaming, 

The  regiments  of  autumn  stood : 
I  saw  their  gold  and  scarlet  gleaming 
From  every  hill-side,  every  wood. 

Beside  the  sea  the  clouds  were  keeping 
Their  secret  leaguer,  gray  and  still ; 

And  soon  their  misty  scouts  came  creeping, 
With  noiseless  step,  from  hill  to  hill. 

All  day  their  sullen  armies  drifted 
Athwart  the  sky  with  slanting  rain ; 

At  sunset  for  a  space  they  lifted, 
With  dusk  they  settled  down  again. 


12 


II 

At  dark  the  winds  began  to  blow 
"With  mutterings  distant,  low ; 

From  sea  and  sky  they  called  their  strength, 
Till  with  an  angry,  broken  roar, 
Like  billows  on  an  unseen  shore, 
Their  fury  burst,  at  length. 

I  heard  through  the  night 

The  rush  and  the  clamor ; 
The  pulse  of  the  fight 

Like  blows  of  Thor's  hammer ; 
The  pattering  flight 
Of  the  leaves,  and  the  anguished 
Moans  of  the  forest  vanquished. 

Just  at  daybreak  came  a  gusty  song : 
"  Shout !  the  winds  are  strong. 
The  little  people  of  the  leaves  are  fled. 
Shout !     The  Autumn  is  dead  !  " 


Ill 

The  storm  is  ended :  the  impartial  sun 
Laughs  down  upon  the  victory  lost  and  won. 
In  long,  triumphant  lines  the  cloudy  host 
Roll  through  the  sky,  retreating  to  the  coast. 

But  we,  fond  lovers  of  the  forest  shade, 
And  grateful  friends  of  every  fallen  leaf, 
Forget  the  glories  of  the  cloud-parade, 
And  walk  the  ruined  woods  in  quiet  grief. 

For  so  these  thoughtful  hearts  of  ours  repeat, 
On  fields  of  triumph,  dirges  of  defeat ; 
And  still  we  turn,  on  gala-days,  to  tread 
Among  the  rustling  memories  of  the  dead. 


A  SNOW-SONG 


D 


OES  the  snow  fall  at  sea  ? 

Yes,  when  the  north  winds  blow, 
When  the  wild  clouds  fly  low, 
Out  of  each  gloomy  wing, 
Hissing  and  murmuring, 
Into  the  stormy  sea 

Falleth  the  snow. 


Does  the  snow  hide  the  sea  ? 
On  all  its  tossing  plains 
Never  a  flake  remains  ; 
Drift  never  resteth  there  ; 
Vanishing  everywhere, 
Into  the  hungry  sea 
Falleth  the  snow. 

What  means  the  snow  at  sea  ? 
"Whirled  in  the  veering  blast, 
Thickly  the  flakes  drive  past ; 
Each  like  a  childish  ghost 
Wavers,  and  then  is  lost. 
Type  of  life's  mystery, 
In  the  forgetful  sea 
Fadeth  the  snow. 


IF  ALL  THE  SKIES 

TF  all  the  skies  were  sunshine, 
Our  faces  would  be  fain 

To  feel  once  more  upon  them 
The  cooling  plash  of  rain. 

If  all  the  world  were  music, 
Our  hearts  would  often  long 

For  one  sweet  strain  of  silence, 
To  break  the  endless  song. 

If  life  were  always  merry, 
Our  souls  would  seek  relief, 

And  rest  from  weary  laughter 
In  the  quiet  arms  of  grief. 


16 


ON  THE  GLACIER 

TTHE  dawn  in  silence  reigns  supreme : 
No  sound  the  frozen  stillness  breaks, 
Save  when  the  avalanche  awakes 

The  echoes,  dull  as  in  a  dream : 

Their  hollow  thunders,  dying,  seem 
To  leave  the  air  so  still  it  aches. 

At  noon,  unnumbered  rivulets  spring 
To  life;  and  down  the  crystal  walls 
Each  brook  makes  music  as  it  falls, 

Till  all  the  blue  crevasses  ring. 

So  in  the  poet's  heart  the  glow 

Of  love  unbinds  the  streams  that  sleep ; 
A  thousand  rills  of  feeling  leap 

To  freedom,  singing  as  they  flow. 


ALPINE  SOLITUDE 


death  bespread  the  solemn  plain, 
And  crowned  the  circling  peaks  with  dread 
The  sun  was  glaring  overhead, 

So  fierce,  the  sky  was  full  of  pain. 

And  while  I  longed  and  looked  in  vain 
For  any  trace  of  life,  I  said, 
"  No  foot  but  mine  has  dared  to  tread 

This  solitude  —  none  shall  again." 

But  as  I  spoke,  before  my  feet 

I  saw  a  track  across  the  snow,  — 
Some  -wandering  chamois,  hours  ago, 

Had  passed  here  on  his  journey  fleet,  — 

A  message  from  a  friend  unknown, 

It  left  my  heart  no  more  alone. 


18 


ROSLIN  AND  HAWTHORNDEN 


Roslin  Chapel,  how  divine 
The  art  that  reared  thy  costly  shrine  ! 
Thy  carven  columns  must  have  grown 
By  magic,  like  a  dream  in  stone. 

Yet  not  within  thy  storied  wall 
Would  I  in  adoration  fall, 
So  gladly  as  within  the  glen 
That  leads  to  lovely  Hawthornden. 

A  long-drawn  aisle,  with  roof  of  green 
And  vine-clad  pillars,  while  between, 
The  Esk  runs  murmuring  on  its  way, 
In  living  music,  night  and  day. 

Within  the  temple  of  this  wood 

The  martyrs  of  the  covenant  stood, 

And  rolled  the  psalm,  and  poured  the  prayer, 

From  Nature's  solemn  altar-stair. 


FOUR   BIRDS 
AND    A   FLOWER 


THE  SONG-SPARROW 

HTHERE  is  a  bird  I  know  so  well, 
It  seems  as  if  he  must  have  sung 

Beside  my  crib  when  I  was  young ; 
Before  I  knew  the  way  to  spell 

The  name  of  even  the  smallest  bird, 

His  gentle-joyful  song  I  heard. 
Now  see  if  you  can  tell,  my  dear, 
What  bird  it  is  that,  every  year, 
Sings  "Sweet — sweet — sweet — 'very  merry  cheer." 

He  comes  in  March,  when  winds  are  strong, 

And  snow  returns  to  hide  the  earth ; 

But  still  he  warms  his  heart  with  mirth, 
And  waits  for  May.     He  lingers  long 

While  flowers  fade  ;  and  every  day 

Repeats  his  small,  contented  lay ; 
As  if  to  say,  we  need  not  fear 
The  season's  change,  if  love  is  here 
With  ' 'Sweet—  sweet  —  sweet — very  merry  cheer. ' ' 

He  does  not  wear  a  Joseph's-coat 

Of  many  colours,  smart  and  gay  ; 

His  suit  is  Quaker  brown  and  gray, 
With  darker  patches  at  his  throat. 

And  yet  of  all  the  well-dressed  throng 

Not  one  can  sing  so  brave  a  song. 
It  makes  the  pride  of  looks  appear 
A  vain  and  foolish  thing,  to  hear 
His'  'Sweet — sweet — sweet — <very  merry  cheer. ' ' 


A  lofty  place  he  does  not  love, 

But  sits  by  choice,  and  well  at  ease, 
In  hedges,  and  in  little  trees 
That  stretch  their  slender  arms  above 
The  meadow-brook  ;  and  there  he  sings 
Till  all  the  field  with  pleasure  rings; 
And  so  he  tells  in  every  ear, 
That  lowly  homes  to  heaven  are  near 
In  ' 'Sweet  —  sweet  —sweet—very  merry  cheer. ' ' 

I  like  the  tune,  I  like  the  words ; 

They  seem  so  true,  so  free  from  art, 

So  friendly,  and  so  full  of  heart,   , 
That  if  but  one  of  all  the  birds 

Could  be  my  comrade  everywhere, 
"  My  little  brother  of  the  air/' 
This  is  the  one  I  'd  choose,  my  dear, 
Because  he  'd  bless  me,  every  year, 
With  "Sweet—  sweet — sweet — very  merry  cheer/' 


24 


THE  MARYLAND  YELLOW-THROAT 

TY7HILE  May  bedecks  the  naked  trees 

With  tassels  and  embroideries, 
And  many  blue-eyed  violets  beam 
Along  the  edges  of  the  stream, 
I  hear  a  voice  that  seems  to  say, 
Now  near  at  hand,  now  far  away, 
' '  Witchery  —  witchery — witchery. ' ' 

An  incantation  so  serene, 
So  innocent,  befits  the  scene : 
There's  magic  in  that  small  bird's  note — 
See,  there  he  flits  —  the  Yellow-throat; 
A  living  sunbeam,  tipped  with  wings, 
A  spark  of  light  that  shines  and  sings 
' '  Witchery  —  witchery — witchery. ' ' 

You  prophet  with  a  pleasant  name, 
If  out  of  Mary-land  you  came, 
You  know  the  way  that  thither  goes 
Where  Mary's  lovely  garden  grows  : 
Fly  swiftly  back  to  her,  I  pray, 
And  try,  to  call  her  down  this  way, 
' '  Witchery  —  witchery — witchery  I ' ' 

Tell  her  to  leave  her  cockle-shells, 
And  all  her  little  silver  bells 
That  blossom  into  melody, 
And  all  her  maids  less  fair  than  she. 
She  does  not  need  these  pretty  things, 
For  everywhere  she  comes,  she  brings 
' '  Witchery  —  witchery — witchery  I ' ' 


The  woods  are  greening  overhead, 
And  flowers  adorn  each  mossy  bed ; 
The  waters  babble  as  they  run  — 
One  thing  is  lacking,  only  one  : 
If  Mary  were  but  here  to-day, 
I  would  believe  your  charming  lay, 
' '  Witchery  —  witchery  —  witchery  /  " 

Along  the  shady  road  I  look  — 
Who  's  coming  now  across  the  brook  ? 
A  woodland  maid,  all  robed  in  white  — 
The  leaves  dance  round  her  with  delight, 
The  stream  laughs  out  beneath  her  feet  — 
Sing,  merry  bird,  the  charm's  complete, 
"  Witchery  —  witchery  —  witchery  !  " 


26 


THE  WHIP-POOR-WILL 

FJO  you  remember,  father, — 
It  seems  so  long  ago, — 

The  day  we  fished  together 
Along  the  Pocono  ? 

At  dusk  I  waited  for  you, 
Beside  the  lumber-mill, 

And  there  I  heard  a  hidden  bird 
That  chanted,  "whip-poor-will," 
' '  Whippoorwitt  !  whippoorwitt  I ' ' 
Sad  and  shrill,— "  wkippoorwill !  " 

The  place  was  all  deserted ; 
The  mill-wheel  hung  at  rest ; 

The  lonely  star  of  evening 
Was  quivering  in  the  west ; 

The  veil  of  night  was  falling ; 
The  winds  were  folded  still ; 

And  everywhere  the  trembling  air 
Re-echoed  "whip-poor-will!" 
"  Whippoorwitt!  <whippoot«wilU  " 
Sad  and  shrill,— " <whippoor<n>itt! " 

You  seemed  so  long  in  coming, 

I  felt  so  much  alone  ; 
The  wide,  dark  world  was  round  me, 

And  life  was  all  unknown; 
The  hand  of  sorrow  touched  me, 

And  made  my  senses  thrill 
With  all  the  pain  that  haunts  the  strain 

Of  mournful  whip-poor-will. 

"  Whippoorwittl  <u>h{ppoot«wtlU  " 

Sad  and  shrill,  —  "  whippoorwittl " 


27 


What  did  I  know  of  trouble  ? 
An  idle  little  lad  ; 

I  had  not  learned  the  lessons 
That  make  men  wise  and  sad. 

I  dreamed  of  grief  and  parting, 
And  something  seemed  to  fill 

My  heart  with  tears,  while  in  my  ears 
Resounded  "whip-poor-will." 
' '  Whippoorwill !  whippoorwill ! ' ' 
Sad  and  shrill,  —  "  whippoorwill !  " 

'T  was  but  a  shadowy  sadness, 

That  lightly  passed  away  ; 
But  I  have  known  the  substance 

Of  sorrow,  since  that  day. 
For  nevermore  at  twilight, 

Beside  the  silent  mill, 
I  '11  wait  for  you,  in  the  falling  dew, 

And  hear  the  whip-poor-will. 

4  '  Whtppoorcwfll  I  ca)hippoorwill  I  " 

Sad  and  shrill,  —  " <whippoor<u>itt!  " 

But  if  you  still  remember, 

In  that  fair  land  of  light, 
The  pains  and  fears  that  touch  us 

Along  this  edge  of  night, 
I  think  all  earthly  grieving, 

And  all  our  mortal  ill, 
To  you  must  seem  like  a  boy's  sad  dream, 

Who  hears  the  whip-poor-will. 

'  '  Whippoorwill  I  'whippoorwiU  !  ' ' 

A  passing  thrill,  —  "  ivhippoorwini  " 


28 


THE  VEERY 

HTHE  moonbeams  over  Arno's  vale  in  silver 
flood  were  pouring, 

When  first  I  heard  the  nightingale  a  long-lost 
love  deploring. 

So  passionate,  so  full  of  pain,  it  sounded  strange 
and  eerie  ; 

I  longed  to  hear  a  simpler  strain, — the  wood- 
notes  of  the  veery. 

The  laverock  sings  a  bonny  lay  above  the  Scot- 
tish heather ; 

It  sprinkles  down  from  far  away  like  light  and 
love  together ; 

He  drops  the  golden  notes  to  greet  his  brooding 
mate,  his  dearie ; 

I  only  know  one  song  more  sweet, — the  vespers 
of  the  veery. 

In  English  gardens,  green  and  bright  and  full  of 

fruity  treasure, 
I  heard  the  blackbird  with  delight  repeat  his 

merry  measure : 
The  ballad  was  a  pleasant  one,  the  tune  was 

loud  and  cheery, 
And  yet,  with  every  setting  sun,  I  listened  for 

the  veery. 


29 


But  far  away,  and  far  away,  the  tawny  thrush 

is  singing ; 
New  England  woods,  at  close  of  day,  with  that 

clear  chant  are  ringing  : 
And  when  my  light  of  life  is  low,  and  heart  and 

flesh  are  weary, 
I  fain  would  hear,  before  I  go,  the  wood  notes 

of  the  vrery. 


THE  LILY  OF  YORROW 

FJEEP  in  the  heart  of  the  forest  the  lily  of 

Yorrow  is  growing ; 
Blue  is  its  cup  as  the  sky,  and  with  mystical 

odour  o'erflowing ; 
Faintly  it   falls   through   the   shadowy  glades 

when  the  south  wind  is  blowing. 

Sweet  are  the  primroses  pale  and  the  violets 
after  a  shower; 

Sweet  are  the  borders  of  pinks  and  the  blossom- 
ing grapes  on  the  bower ; 

Sweeter  by  far  is  the  breath  of  that  far-away 
woodland  flower. 

Searching  and  strange  in  its  sweetness,  it  steals 
like  a  perfume  enchanted 

Under  the  arch  of  the  forest,  and  all  who  per- 
ceive it  are  haunted, 

Seeking  and  seeking  forever,  till  sight  of  the 
lily  is  granted. 

Who  can  describe  how  it  grows,  with  its  chalice 

of  lazuli  leaning 
Over  a  crystalline  spring,  where  the  ferns  and 

the  mosses  are  greening? 
Who  can  imagine  its  beauty,  or  utter  the  depth 

of  its  meaning  ? 


Calm  of  the  journeying  stars,  and  repose  of  the 

mountains  olden, 
Joy  of  the  swift-running  rivers,  and  glory  of 

sunsets  golden, 
Secrets  that  cannot  be  told  in  the  heart  of  the 

flower  are  holden. 

Surely  to  see  it  is  peace  and  the  crown  of  a  life- 
long endeavour ; 

Surely  to  pluck  it  is  gladness,  —  but  they  who 
have  found  it  can  never 

Tell  of  the  gladness  and  peace :  they  are  hid 
from  our  vision  forever. 

'T  was  but  a  moment  ago  that  a  comrade  was 

wandering  near  me : 
Turning  aside  from  the  pathway  he  murmured 

a  greeting  to  cheer  me,  — 
Then  he  was  lost  in  the  shade,  and  I  called  but 

he  did  not  hear  me. 

Why  should  I  dream  he  is  dead,  and  bewail 

him  with  passionate  sorrow  ? 
Surely  I  know  there  is  gladness  in  finding  the 

lily  of  Yorrow : 
He  has  discovered  it  first,  and  perhaps  I  shall 

find  it  to-morrow. 


LYRICS 

OF 

FRIENDSHIP  AND    FAITH 


TENNYSON 

In  lucem  transitus 
October,  1892 

PROM  the  misty  shores  of  midnight,  touched 

•*•         with  splendours  of  the  moon, 

To  the  singing  tides   of  heaven,  and  the  light 

more  clear  than  noon, 
Passed  a  soul  that  grew  to  music  till  it  was 

with  God  in  tune. 

Brother  of  the  greatest   poets,  true  to  nature, 

true  to  art ; 
Lover  of  Immortal  Love,  uplifter  of  the  human 

heart ; 
Who  shall  cheer  us  with  high  music,  who  shall 

sing,  if  thou  depart  ? 

Silence  here  —  for  love  is  silent,  gazing  on  the 

lessening  sail ; 
Silence  here  —  for  grief  is  voiceless  when  the 

mighty  minstrels  fail ; 
Silence  here  —  but  far  beyond  us,  many  voices 

crying,  Hail ! 


35 


A  BALLAD  OF  CLAREMONT  HILL 

HTHE  roar  of  the  city  is  low, 
1    Muffled  by  new-fallen  snow, 
And  the  sign  of  the  wintry  moon  is  small  and 

round  and  still. 

Will  you  come  with  me  to-night, 
To  see  a  pleasant  sight 

Away  on  the  river-side,  at  the  edge  of  Clare- 
mont  Hill? 

"  And  what  shall  we  see  there, 
But  streets  that  are  new  and  bare, 
And  many  a  desolate  place  that  the  city  is  com- 
ing to  fill ; 

And  a  soldier's  tomb  of  stone, 
And  a  few  trees  standing  alone  — 
Will  you  walk  for  that  through  the  cold,  to  the 
edge  of  Claremont  Hill?" 

But  there's  more  than  that  for  me, 
In  the  place  that  I  fain  would  see : 
There's  a  glimpse  of  the  grace  that  helps  us  all 

to  bear  life's  ill; 
A  touch  of  the  vital  breath 
That  keeps  the  world  from  death ; 
A  flower  that  never  fades,  on  the  edge  of  Clare- 
mont Hill. 


For  just  where  the  road  swings  round, 
In  a  narrow  strip  of  ground, 
Where   a  group   of  forest  trees   are   lingering 

fondly  still, 

There  's  a  grave  of  the  olden  time, 
When  the  garden  bloomed  in  its  prime, 
And  the  children  laughed  and  sang  on  the  edge 
of  Claremont  Hill. 

The  marble  is  pure  and  white, 
And  even  in  this  dim  light, 

You  may  read  the  simple  words  that  are  writ- 
ten there  if  you  will ; 
You  may  hear  a  father  tell 
Of  the  child  he  loved  so  well, 
A  hundred  years  ago,  on  the  edge  of  Claremont 
Hill. 

The  tide  of  the  city  has  rolled 
Across  that  bower  of  old, 
And  blotted  out  the  beds  of  the  rose  and  the 

daffodil ; 

But  the  little  playmate  sleeps, 
And  the  shrine  of  love  still  keeps 
A  record  of  happy  days,  on  the  edge  of  Clare- 
mont Hill. 


37 


The  river  is  pouring  down 
To  the  crowded,  careless  town, 
Where  the  intricate  wheels  of  trade  are  grind- 
ing on  like  a  mill ; 
But  the  clamorous  noise  and  strife 
Of  the  hurrying  waves  of  life 
Flow  soft  by  this  haven  of  peace  on  the  edge 
of  Claremont  Hill. 

And  after  all,  my  friend, 
When  the  tale  of  our  years  shall  end, 
Be  it  long  or  short,  or  lowly  or  great,  as  God 

may  will, 

What  better  praise  could  we  hear, 
Than  this  of  the  child  so  dear  : 
You  have   made   my  life   more  sweet,  on  the 
edge  of  Claremont  Hill? 


FOUR  THINGS 

things  a  man  must  learn  to  do 
If  he  would  make  his  record  true  : 
To  think  without  confusion  clearly ; 
To  love  his  fellow-men  sincerely ; 
To  act  from  honest  motives  purely  ; 
To  trust  in  God  and  Heaven  securely. 


39 


THE  RENDEZVOUS 

T  COUNT  that  friendship  little  worth 
1  Which  has  not  many  things  untold, 

Great  longings  that  no  words  can  hold, 
And  passion-secrets  waiting  birth. 

Along  the  slender  wires  of  speech 
Some  message  from  the  heart  is  sent ; 
But  who  can  tell  the  whole  that's  meant  ? 

Our  dearest  thoughts  are  out  of  reach. 

I  have  not  seen  thee,  though  mine  eyes 
Hold  now  the  image  of  thy  face  ; 
In  vain,  through  form,  I  strive  to  trace 

The  soul  I  love :  that  deeper  lies. 

A  thousand  accidents  control 

Our  meeting  here.     Clasp  hand  in  hand, 
And  swear  to  meet  me  in  that  land 

Where  friends  hold  converse  soul  to  soul. 


TRANSFORMATION 

QNLY  a  little  shrivelled  seed, 
^   It  might  be  flower,  or  grass,  or  weed ; 
Only  a  box  of  earth  on  the  edge 
Of  a  narrow,  dusty  window-ledge  ; 
Only  a  few  scant  summer  showers ; 
Only  a  few  clear  shining  hours  ; 
That  was  all.     Yet  God  could  make 
Out  of  these,  for  a  sick  child's  sake, 
A  blossom-wonder,  as  fair  and  sweet 
As  ever  broke  at  an  angel's  feet. 

Only  a  life  of  barren  pain, 
Wet  with  sorrowful  tears  for  rain, 
Warmed  sometimes  by  a  wandering  gleam 
Of  joy,  that  seemed  but  a  happy  dream; 
A  life  as  common  and  brown  and  bare 
As  the  box  of  earth  in  the  window  there  ; 
Yet  it  bore,  at  last,  the  precious  bloom 
Of  a  perfect  soul  in  that  narrow  room  ; 
Pure  as  the  snowy  leaves  that  fold 
Over  the  flower's  heart  of  gold. 

(1875-) 


TO  MY  LADY  GRAYGOWN: 
WITH  A  HANDFUL  OF  VERSES 

TVTAYSIDE    songs    and    meadow    blossoms; 
w     nothing  perfect,  nothing  rare ; 
Every  poet's  ordered  garden  yields  a  hundred 

flowers  more  fair ; 
Master-singers  know  a  music  richer  far  beyond 

compare. 

Yet  the  reaper  in  the  harvest,  'mid  the  burden 

and  the  heat, 
Hums  a  half-remembered  ballad,  finds  the  easy 

cadence  sweet,  — 
Sees  the  very  blue  of  heaven  in  the  corn-bloom 

at  his  feet. 

For  the  Over-Lord  is  generous,  no  straight  walls 
His  love  confine ; 

Unto  few,  for  world-wide  glory,  comes  the  sym- 
phony divine ; 

Unto  all,  for  simple  pleasure,  come  the  thoughts 
that  sing  and  shine. 

So  to  you,  dear  heart,  I  bring  them :  you,  among 

the  busy  throng, 
Walk  beside  me, -help  me,  cheer  me,  keep  the 

days  from  seeming  long : 
All  the  blossoms,  all  the  ballads,  touched  by 

you,  to  you  belong  — 
You,  my  flower  ;  you,  my  song! 


42 


"RAPPELLE-TOI" 

•pEMEMBER,  when  the  timid  light 

•^  Through  the   enchanted  halls  of  dawn  is 

streaming ; 

Remember,  when  the  pensive  night 
Beneath  her  silvery  veil  walks  dreaming ; 
When  pleasure  calls  thee  and  thy  heart 

beats  high, 
When  tender  joys  through  evening  shades 

draw  nigh, 

Hark,  from  the  woodland  deeps 
A  gentle  whisper  creeps, 
Remember ! 

Remember,  when  the  hand  of  fate 

My  life  from  thine  forevermore  has  parted ; 
When  sorrow,  exile,  and  the  weight 
Of  lonely  years  have  made  me  heavy-hearted ; 
Think  of  my  loyal  love,  my  last  adieu ; 
Absence  and  time  are  naught,  if  we  are  true  ; 
Long  as  my  heart  shall  beat, 
To  thine  it  will  repeat, 
Remember ! 

Remember,  when  the  cool,  dark  tomb 

Receives  my  heart  into  its  quiet  keeping, 
And  some  sweet  flower  begins  to  bloom 
Above  the  place  where  I  am  sleeping ; 
Ah  then,  my  face  thou  nevermore  shalt  see, 
But  still  my  soul  will  linger  close  to  thee, 
And  in  the  holy  place  of  night, 
The  litany  of  love  recite,  — 
Remember ! 

From  the  French. 

43 


«DU  BIST  WE  EINE  BLUME" 

PAIR  art  thou  as  a  flower 
•*•      And  innocent  and  shy : 
I  look  on  thee  and  sorrow ; 
I  grieve,  I  know  not  why. 

I  long  to  lay,  in  blessing, 
My  hand  upon  thy  brow, 

And  pray  that  God  may  keep  thee 
As  fair  and  pure  as  now. 

From  the  German  of  Heinrich  Heine. 


44 


"EIN  FICHTENBAUM  STEHT  EEMSAM' 

A    FIR-TREE  standeth  lonely 
•"•    On  an  icy  northern  height, 
Asleep,  while  snow-storms  cover 
His  rest  with  robes  of  white. 

Dreaming,  he  sees  a  palm-tree 
In  the  distant  morning-land  ; 
She  stands  alone  and  silent 
In  the  burning  waste  of  sand. 

From  the  German  of  Heinrich  Heine. 


45 


"IN  MEMORIAM" 

'T'HE  record  of  a  faith  sublime, 
•*•   And  hope,  through  clouds,  far-off  discerned ; 

The  incense  of  a  love  that  burned 
Through  pain  and  doubt  defying  Time  : 

A  light  that  gleamed  across  the  wave 
Of  darkness,  down  the  rolling  years, 
Piercing  the  heavy  mist  of  tears  — 

A  rainbow  shining  o'er  the  grave  : 

The  story  of  a  soul  at  strife 

That  learned  at  last  to  kiss  the  rod, 
And  passed  through  sorrow  up  to  God, 

From  living  to  a  higher  life. 


INSCRIPTION  FOR  THE  WINDOW 
OF  KATRINA'S  TOWER 
AT  "YADDO" 


is  the  window's  message, 

In  silence,  to  the  Queen  : 
"  Thou  hast  a  double  kingdom 

And  I  am  set  between  : 
Look  out  and  see  the  glory, 

On  hill  and  plain  and  sky  : 
Look  in  and  see  the  light  of  love 

That  nevermore  shall  die  !  " 

L'ENVOI 

Window  in  the  Queen's  high  tower, 
This  shall  be  thy  magic  power! 
Shut  the  darkness  and  the  doubt, 
Shut  the  storm  and  conflict,  out; 
Wind  and  hail  and  snow  and  rain 
Dash  against  thee  all  in  vain. 
Let  in  nothing  from  the  night,  — 
Let  in  every  ray  of  light. 


47 


THE  PRISON  AND  THE  ANGEL 

OELF  is  the  only  prison  that  can  ever  bind 

°    the  soul; 

Love  is  the  only  angel  who  can  bid  the  gates 
unroll ; 

And  when  he  comes  to  call  thee,  arise  and  fol- 
low fast ; 

His  way  may  lie  through  darkness,  but  it  leads 
to  light  at  last. 


48 


SANTA  CHRISTINA 

CAINTS  are  God's  flowers,  fragrant  souls 
^     That  His  own  hand  hath  planted, 
Not  in  some  far-off  heavenly  place, 

Or  solitude  enchanted, 
But  here  and  there  and  everywhere,  — 
In  lonely  field,  or  crowded  town, 
God  sees  a  flower  when  He  looks  down. 

Some  wear  the  lily's  stainless  white, 

And  some  the  rose  of  passion, 
And  some  the  violet's  heavenly  blue, 

But  each  in  its  own  fashion, 
With  silent  bloom  and  soft  perfume, 

Is  praising  Him  who  from  above 

Beholds  each  lifted  face  of  love. 

One  such  I  knew,  — and  had  the  grace 

To  thank  my  God  for  knowing : 
The  beauty  of  her  quiet  life 

Was  like  a  rose  in  blowing,  — 
So  fair  and  sweet,  so  all-complete, 

And  all  unconscious  as  a  flower, 

That  light  and  fragrance  were  her  dower. 

No  convent-garden  held  this  rose, 

Concealed  like  secret  treasure  ; 
No  royal  terrace  guarded  her 

For  some  sole  monarch's  pleasure. 
She  made  her  shrine,  this  saint  of  mine, 

In  a  bright  home  where  children  played ; 

And  there  she  wrought  and  there  she  prayed. 


49 


In  sunshine,  when  the  days  were  glad, 

She  had  the  art  of  keeping 
The  clearest  rays,  to  give  again 

In  days  of  rain  and  weeping ; 
Her  blessed  heart  could  still  impart 

Some  portion  of  its  secret  grace, 

And  charity  shone  in  her  face. 

In  joy  she  grew  from  year  to  year ; 

And  sorrow  made  her  sweeter  ; 
And  every  comfort,  still  more  kind; 

And  every  loss,  completer. 
The  children  came  to  love  her  name,  — 

"  Christina,"  —  't  was  a  lip's  caress ; 

And  when  they  called,  they  seemed  to  bless. 

No  more  they  call,  for  she  is  gone. 

The  wind  passed  o'er  the  flower ; 
The  place  that  knew  and  loved  her  well 

No  more,  no  more  shall  know  her  ; 
They  cannot  reach  her  with  love's  speech, 

And  when  they  say  "  Christina  "  now 

'T  is  like  a  prayer  or  like  a  vow  : 

A  vow  to  keep  her  life  alive 

In  deeds  of  pure  affection, 
So  that  her  love  shall  find  through  them 

A  daily  resurrection  ; 
A  constant  prayer  that  they  may  wear 

Some  touch  of  that  supernal  light 

With  which  she  blossoms  in  God's  sight. 


JOY  AND  DUTY 

"TOY  is  a  Duty,"  — so  with  golden  lore 

x  The  Hebrew  rabbis  taught  in  days  of  yore, 
And  happy  human  hearts  heard  in  their  speech 
Almost  the  highest  wisdom  man  can  reach. 

But  one  bright  peak  still  rises  far  above, 

And  there  the   Master  stands  whose  name  is 

Love, 

Saying  to  those  whom  weary  tasks  employ  : 
"  Life  is  divine  when  Duty  is  a  Joy." 


LOVE  AND  LIGHT 

""PHERE  are   many  kinds  of  love,  as  many 
1        kinds  of  light, 
And  every  kind  of  love  makes  a  glory  in  the 

night. 
There  is  love  that  stirs  the  heart,  and  love  that 

gives  it  rest, 
But  the   love  that  leads   life   upward   is   the 

noblest  and  the  best. 


PEACE 

TTTITH  eager  heart  and  will  on  fire, 
I  fought  to  win  my  great  desire 
"Peace  shall  be  mine,"  I  said;  but  life 
Grew  bitter  in  the  weary  strife. 

My  soul  was  tired,  and  my  pride 
Was  wounded  deep  :  to  Heaven  I  cried, 
"  God  grant  me  peace  or  I  must  die ; " 
The  dumb  stars  glittered  no  reply. 

Broken  at  last,  I  bowed  my  head, 
Forgetting  all  myself,  and  said, 
"  Whatever  comes,  His  will  be  done;" 
And  in  that  moment  peace  was  won. 


53 


CHANT  OF  THE  NORTHMEN  AT  THE 
THUNDER-OAK 

Q  THOR,  the  Thunderer, 
^  Mighty  and  merciless, 
Spare  us  from  smiting ! 
Heave  not  thy  hammer, 
Angry,  against  us ; 
Plague  not  thy  people ! 
Take  from  our  treasure 
Richest  of  ransom. 
Silver  we  send  thee, 
Jewels  and  javelins, 
Goodliest  garments ; 
All  our  possessions 
Priceless  we  proffer. 
Sheep  will  we  slaughter, 
Steeds  will  we  sacrifice  ; 
Bright  blood  shall  bathe  thee, 
O  tree  of  Thunder ! 
Life-floods  shall  lave  thee, 
Strong  wood  of  wonder ! 
Mighty,  have  mercy, 
Smite  us  no  more, 
Spare  us  and  save  us, 
Spare  us,  Thor!  Thor! 

From  "The  Oak  of  Geismar." 


54 


CHANT  OF   THE    MAGI  AT    THE   FIRE- 
ALTAR 

worship  the  Spirit  Divine, 
All  wisdom  and  goodness  possessing ; 
Surrounded  by  Holy  Immortals, 

The  givers  of  bounty  and  blessing  ; 
We  joy  in  the  works  of  his  hands, 
His  truth  and  his  glory  confessing. 

We  praise  all  the  things  that  are  pure, 

For  these  are  his  only  creation  ; 
The  thoughts  that  are  true,  and  the  words 

And  the  deeds  that  have  won  approbation ; 
These  are  the  effluence  of  Him, 

And  for  these  we  would  give  adoration. 

Hear  us,  O  Mazda !     Thou  livest 
In  light  and  in  heavenly  gladness  ; 

Cleanse  us  from  falsehood,  and  keep  us 
From  evil  and  bondage  to  badness ; 

Pour  out  thy  light  and  thy  joy 
On  our  darkness  and  sadness. 


55 


Shine  on  our  gardens  and  fields, 
Shine  on  our  working  and  -weaving; 

Shine  on  the  whole  race  of  man, 
Believing  and  unbelieving ; 

Shine  on  us  now  through  the  night, 

Shine  on  us  now  in  thy  might, 

The  flame  of  our  prayerful  love 
And  the  song  of  our  worship  receiving. 

From  "The  Story  of  the  Other  Wise  Man." 


SONG  OF  A  PILGRIM-SOUL 

TUTARCH  on,  my  soul,  nor  like  a  laggard  stay! 
March  swiftly  on.     Yet  err  not  from  the 

way 

Where  all  the  nobly  wise  of  old  have  trod  — 
The  path  of  faith  made  by  the  sons  of  God. 

Follow  the  marks  that  they  have  set  beside 
The  narrow,  cloud-swept  track,  to  be  thy  guide : 
Follow,  and  honour  what  the  past  has  gained, 
And  forward  still,  that  more  may  be  attained. 

Something  to  learn,  and  something  to  forget: 
Hold  fast  the  good,  and  seek  the  better  yet : 
Press  on,  and  prove  the  pilgrim-hope  of  youth, — 
That  Creeds   are   milestones   on  the   road   to 
Truth. 


57 


A  BABE  AMONG  THE  STARS 


I  beheld  the  splendour  of  the  night, 
And  all  the  misty  myriad  of  her  stars, 
Forever  swinging  on  their  paths  of  light, 

Far  out  beyond  our  system's  narrow  bars, 
I  marvelled  that  the  glory  of  God's  birth 
Had  fallen  only  on  this  little  earth. 

Infinite  condescension,  that  could  raise 

The   least    to   be   most   blessed.      God    can 

bring 
Out   of    the   mouths   of    babes   and   sucklings 

praise. 

This  late-born  infant  of  the  sky  shall  sing 
A  music  sweeter  than  her  sister  spheres  ; 
Incarnate  love,  while  heaven  in  wonder  hears. 


TO  THE  CHILD  JESUS 


i 

THE   NATIVITY 


every  time-worn  heart  but  see  Thee 

once  again, 
A  happy  human  child,  among  the  homes  of 

men, 
The  age  of  doubt  would  pass,  —  the  vision  of 

Thy  face 
Would  silently  restore  the  childhood   of  the 

race. 

II 

THE  FLIGHT  INTO  EGYPT 

Thou  wayfaring  Jesus,  a  pilgrim  and  stranger, 

Exiled  from  heaven  by  love  at  thy  birth, 
Exiled  again  from  thy  rest  in  the  manger, 

A  fugitive  child  'mid  the  perils  of  earth,  — 
Cheer  with  thy  fellowship  all  who  are  weary, 

Wandering  far  from  the  land  that  they  love  ; 
Guide  every  heart  that  is  homeless  and  dreary, 

Safe  to  its  home  in  thy  presence  above. 


59 


THE  BARGAIN 

YY7HAT  shall  I  give  for  thee, 
w   Thou  Pearl  of  greatest  price  ? 
For  all  the  treasures  I  possess 
Would  not  suffice. 

I  give  my  store  of  gold  ; 

It  is  but  earthly  dross  : 
But  thou  shalt  make  me  rich,  beyond 

All  fear  of  loss. 

Mine  honours  I  resign  ; 

They  are  but  small  at  best : 
Thou  like  a  royal  star  shalt  shine 

Upon  my  breast. 

My  worldly  joys  I  give, 

The  flowers  with  which  I  played  ; 
Thy  beauty,  far  more  heavenly  fair, 

Shall  never  fade. 

Dear  Lord,  is  that  enough  ? 

Nayt  not  a  thousandth  part. 
Well,  then,  I  have  but  one  thing  more 

Take  Thou  my  heart. 


60 


THE  MASTER'S  VOICE 

"VJITHEN  days  are  dark  and  nights  are  cold, 
**    And  all  the  world  seems  going  wrong  ; 
When  fears  are  fresh,  and  hopes  grow  old, 

And  die  because  they  've  waited  long ; 
'When  all  is  sad  without,  within, 
And  I  am  plagued  with  doubt  and  sin, 
Yet  have  I  comfort,  and  rejoice 
If  I  can  hear  the  Master's  voice. 

Come  unto  Me,  thou  child  distressed; 
Come,  find  a  refuge  on  My  breast; 
Lay  down  thy  burden,  and  have  rest. 

When  clouds  are  thick,  and  winds  are  loud, 

And  angry  waters  rising  fast, 
With  many  leaping  waves  that  crowd 

To  overwhelm  my  boat  at  last ; 
When  all  my  chance  of  life  seems  lost, 
Though  far  astray  and  tempest-tossed, 
Yet  have  I  courage,  and  rejoice 
If  I  can  hear  the  Master's  voice. 

Be  not  afraid;  't  is  I  that  stand, 
In  every  danger,  near  at  band. 
The  'winds  are  still  at  My  command. 


61 


When  earthly  voices,  once  so  dear, 
Have  died  in  silence,  one  by  one, 
Till  I  am  left  to  mourn  them  here 

'With  empty  heart,  and  all  alone  ; 
When  sorrow  from  the  gates  of  death 
Breathes  on  my  cheek  her  icy  breath ; 
Yet  have  I  peace,  and  can  rejoice 
If  I  but  hear  the  Master's  voice. 

A  little  while;  wait  patiently. 
A  little  while,  andthou  shalt  be 
With  thy  beloved,  and  with  Me. 


62 


BITTER-SWEET 

JUST  to  give  up,  and  trust 
All  to  a  Fate  unknown, 
Plodding  along  life's  road  in  the  dust, 

Bounded  by  walls  of  stone  ; 
Never  to  have  a  heart  at  peace ; 
Never  to  see  when  care  will  cease ; 
Just  to  be  still  when  sorrows  fall  — 
This  is  the  bitterest  lesson  of  all. 

Just  to  give  up,  and  rest 
All  on  a  Love  secure, 
Out  of  a  world  that's  hard  at  the  best, 

Looking  to  heaven  as  sure  ; 
Ever  to  hope,  through  cloud  and  fear, 
In  darkest  night,  that  the  dawn  is  near ; 
Just  to  wait  at  the  Master's  feet  — 
Surely,  now,  the  bitter  is  sweet. 


THE  WAY 

O  seeks  for  heaven  alone  to  save  his  soul, 
May  keep  the  path,  but  will  not  reach  the 

goal ; 

While  he  who  walks  in  love  may  wander  far, 
But  God  will  bring  him  where  the  Blessed  are. 


64 


THE  ARROW 

T  IFE  is  an  arrow  —  therefore  you  must  know 
•^    What   mark   to   aim   at,   how  to   use   the 

bow  — 
Then  draw  it  to  the  head,  and  let  it  go ! 


THE  GREAT  RIVER 

"  In  la  sua  volontade  fe  nostra  pace." 

f"\  MIGHTY  river!  strong,  eternal  Will, 

^   Wherein  the  streams  of  human  good  and 

ill 

Are  onward  swept,  conflicting,  to  the  sea, 
The  world  is  safe  because  it  floats  in  Thee. 


66 


MERCY  FOR  ARMENIA 

i 

THE   TURK'S   WAY 

GTAND  back,  ye  messengers  of  mercy !    Stand 
^    Far  off,  for  I  will  save  my  troubled  folk 

In  my  own  way.  So  the  false  Sultan  spoke  ; 
And  Europe,  hearkening  to  his  base  command, 
Stood  still  to  see  him  heal  his  wounded  land. 

Through  blinding  snows  of  winter  and  through 
smoke 

Of  burning  towns,  she  saw  him  deal  the  stroke 
Of  cruel  mercy  that  his  hate  had  planned. 
Unto  the  prisoners  and  the  sick  he  gave 

New  tortures,  horrible,  without  a  name ; 
Unto  the  thirsty,  blood  to  drink ;  a  sword 

Unto  the  hungry ;  with  a  robe  of  shame 

He  clad  the  naked,  making  life  abhorred. 
He  saved  by  slaughter,  and  denied  a  grave. 


II 

AMERICA'S    WAY 

But  thou,  my  country,  though  no  fault  be  thine 
For  that  red  horror  far  across  the  sea ; 
Though  not  a  tortured  wretch  can  point  to 

thee, 

And  curse  thee  for  the  selfishness  supine 
Of  those  great  Powers  that  cowardly  combine 
To  shield  the  Turk  in  his  iniquity ; 
Yet,  since  thy  hand  is  innocent  and  free, 
Rise,  thou,  and  show  the  world  the  way  divine ! 
Thou  canst  not  break  the  oppressor's  iron  rod, 
But  thou  canst  minister  to  the  oppressed ; 
Thou  canst  not  loose  the  captive's  heavy 

chain, 
But  thou  canst  bind  his  wounds  and  soothe 

his  pain. 

Armenia  calls  thee,  Empire  of  the  West, 
To  play  the  Good  Samaritan  for  God. 


68 


THE    BUILDERS 


AN    ACADEMIC   ODE 

RECITED    AT    THE   ONE    HUNDRED   AND    FIFTIETH 

ANNIVERSARY  OF  PRINCETON  COLLEGE 

OCTOBER  21,  1896 


THE  BUILDERS 


INTO  the  dust  of  the  making  of  man 

1    Spirit  was  breathed  when  his  life  began, 

Lifting  him  up  from  his  low  estate, 

'With  masterful  passion,  the  wish  to  create. 

Out  of  the  dust  of  his  making,  man 

Fashioned  his  works  as  the  ages  ran ; 

Palace,  and  fortress,  and  temple,  and  tower, 

Filling  the  world  with  the  proof  of  his  power. 

The  clay  wherein  God  made  him 

Grew  plastic  and  obeyed  him ; 

The  trees,  high-arching  o'er  him, 

Fell  everywhere  before  him ; 

The  hills,  in  silence  standing, 

Gave  up,  at  his  commanding, 

Their  ancient  rock-foundations 

To  strengthen  his  creations  ; 

And  all  the  metals  hidden 

Came  forth  as  they  were  bidden, 

To  help  his  high  endeavour, 

And  build  a  house  to  last  forever. 


The  monuments  of  mortals 

Are  as  the  flower  of  the  grass ; 
Through  Time's  dim  portals 

A  voiceless,  viewless  wind  doth  pass ; 
And  where  it  breathes,  the  brightest  blooms 

decay, 
The  forests  bend  to  earth  more  deeply  day  by 

day, 
And  man's  great  buildings  slowly  fade  away. 

One  after  one, 

They  pay  to  that  dumb  breath 
The  tribute  of  their  death, 

And  are  undone. 
The  towers  incline  to  dust, 
The  massive  girders  rust, 
The  domes  dissolve  in  air, 
The  pillars  that  upbear 
The  lofty  arches  crumble,  stone  by  stone, 
While   man   the    builder    looks   about   him  in 

despair, 

For  all  his  works  of  pride  and  power  are  over- 
thrown. 


72 


Ill 

A  Voice  spake  out  of  the  sky : 
"  Set  thy  desires  more  high. 
Thy  buildings  fade  away 
Because  thou  buildest  clay. 
Now  make  the  fabric  sure 
With  stones  that  shall  endure. 

Hewn  from  the  spiritual  rock, 
The  immortal  towers  of  the  soul 

At  Time's  dissolving  touch  shall  mock, 
And  stand  secure  while  aeons  roll." 


73 


IV 

Well  did  the  wise  in  heart  rejoice 
To  hear  the  secret  summons  of  that  Voice, 
And  patiently  begin 
The  builder's  work  within, — 
Houses  not  made  with  hands, 
Nor  founded  on  the  sands. 
And  thou,  Revered  Mother,  at  whose  call 
We  come  to  keep  thy  joyous  festival, 
And  celebrate, 
With  fitting  state, 

The  glory  of  thy  labours  on  the  walls  of  Truth 
Through  sevenscore  years  and  ten  of  thine  eter- 
nal youth,  — 
A  master  builder  thou, 
And  on  thy  shining  brow, 
Like  Cybele,  in  fadeless  light  dost  wear 
A  diadem  of  turrets  strong  and  fair. 


74 


I  see  thee  standing  in  a  lonely  land, 
But  late  and  hardly  won  from  solitude, 

Unpopulous  and  rude, — 
On  that  far  western  shore  I  see  thee  stand, 
Like  some  young  goddess  from  a  brighter  strand, 
While  in  thine  eyes  a  radiant  thought  is  born, 
Enkindling  all  thy  beauty  like  the  morn, 
And  guiding  to  thy  work  a  powerful  hand. 
Sea-like  the  forest  rolled,  in  waves  of  green, 
And  few  the  lights  that  glimmered,  leagues  be- 
tween. 

High  in  the  north,  for  fourscore  years  alone, 
Fair  Harvard's  earliest  beacon-tower  had  shone; 
Then  Yale  was  lighted,  and  an  answering  ray 
Flashed  from  the  meadows  by  New  Haven  Bay. 
But  deeper  spread  the  forest,  and  more  dark, 
Where  first  Neshaminy  received  the  spark 
Of  sacred  learning  to  a  frail  abode, 
And  nursed  the  holy  fire  until  it  glowed. 
Thine  was  the  courage,  thine  the  larger  look, 
That  raised  yon  taper  from  its  humble  nook  ; 
Thine  was  the  hope,  and  thine  the  stronger  will, 
That  built  the  beacon  here  on  Princeton  Hill. 
"  New  light!  "  men  cried,  and  murmured  that  it 

came 
From    an    unsanctioned    source   with    lawless 

flame ; 

It  shone  too  free,  for  still  the  church  and  school 
Must  only  shine  according  to  their  rule. 


75 


But  Princeton  answered,  in  her  nobler  mood, 
"  God  made  the  light,  and  all  the  light  is  good. 
There  is  no  war  between  the  old  and  new ; 
The  conflict  lies  between  the  false  and  true. 
The  stars,  that  high  in  heaven  their  courses  run, 
In  glory  differ,  but  their  light  is  one. 
The  beacons,  gleaming  o\er  the  sea  of  life, 
Are  rivals  but  in  radiance,  riot  in  strife. 
Shine  on,  ye  sister-towers,  across  the  night ! 
I  too  will  build  a  lasting  home  for  light." 


76 


VI 

Brave  was  that  word  of  faith  and  bravely  was 

it  kept ; 
With  never-wearying  zeal  that  faltered  not,  nor 

slept, 
She  toiled  to  raise  her  tower,  and  while  she 

firmly  laid 
The  deep  foundation-walls,  at  all  her  toil  she 

prayed. 
And  men  who  loved  the  truth  because  it  made 

them  free, 
And  men  who  saw  the  twofold  Word  of  God 

agree, 

Reading  the  book  of  nature  and  the  sacred  page 
By  the  same  inward  ray  that  grows  from  age  to 

age, 

Were  built  like  living  stones  that  beacon  to  up- 
lift, 
And  drawing  light   from  heaven  gave  to  the 

world  the  gift. 
Nor  ever,  while  they  searched  the  secrets  of 

the  earth, 
Or  traced  the  stream  of  life  through  mystery  to 

its  birth, 
Nor  ever,  while  they  taught  the  lightning-flash 

to  bear 

The  messages  of  man  in  silence  through  the  air, 
Fell  from  that  home  of  light  one  false,  perfidi- 
ous ray 
To  blind   the    trusting   heart,  or  lead  the  life 

astray. 
But  still,  while  knowledge  grew  more  luminous 

and  broad 
It  lit  the  path  of  faith  and  showed  the  way  to 

God. 


77 


VII 

Yet  not  for  peace  alone 

Labour  the  builders. 
Work  that  in  peace  has  grown 
Swiftly  is  overthrown, 
When  from  the  darkening  skies 
Storm-clouds  of  wrath  arise, 
And  through  the  cannons'  crash, 
War's  deadly  lightning-flash 

Smites  and  bewilders. 
Ramparts  of  strength  must  frown 
Round  every  placid  town 

And  city  splendid ; 
All  that  our  fathers  wrought, 
With  true  prophetic  thought, 

Must  be  defended ! 


vin 

But  who  should  raise  protecting  walls  for  thee, 
Thou  young,  defenceless  land  of  liberty  ? 
Or  who  could  build  the  fortress  strong  enough, 
Or  stretch  the  mighty  bulwark  long  enough 
To  hold  thy  far-extended  coast 
Against  the  overweening  host 
That  took  the  open  path  across  the  sea, 
And  like  a  tempest  poured 
Their  desolating  horde, 
To   quench    thy   dawning    light    in    gloom    of 

tyranny  ? 

Yet  not  unguarded  thou  wert  found 
When  on  thy  shore  with  sullen  sound 
The  blaring  trumpets  of  an  unjust  king 
Proclaimed    invasion.      From    the    insulted 

ground, 
In  freedom's  desperate  hour  there  seemed  to 

spring 

Invisible  walls  for  her  defence  ; 
Not  trembling,  like  those  battlements  of  stone 
That  fell  in  fear  when  Joshua's  horns  were 

blown ; 

But  standing  firmer,  growing  still  more  dense, 
With  every  new  assault  of  alien  insolence, 
While  cannon   roared    and  flashed  and  roared 

again, 

In  sovereign  pride  the  living  rampart  rose, 
To  meet  the  onset  of  imperious  foes 
With  a  long  line  of  brave,  unconquerable  men. 
This  was  thy  fortress,  well-defended  land, 
And  on  these  walls,  the  patient,  building  hand 
Of  Princeton  laboured  with  the  force  of  ten. 


79 


Her  sons  were  foremost  in  the  furious  fight ; 
Her  sons  were  firmest  to  uphold  the  right 
In  council-chambers  of  the  new-born  State, 
And  prove  that  he  who  would  be  free  must  first 

be  great 

Of  heart,  and  high  in  thought,  and  strong 
In  purpose  not  to  do  or  suffer  wrong. 
Such  were  the  men,  impregnable  to  fear, 
Whose  souls  were  framed  and  fashioned  here ; 
And  when  war  shook  the  land  with  threatening 

shock, 
The  men  of  Princeton  stood  like  muniments  of 

rock. 

Nor  has  the  breath  of  Time 
Dissolved  that  proud  array 
Of  imperturbable  strength : 
For  though  the  rocks  decay, 
And  all  the  iron  bands 

Of  earthly  strongholds  are  unloosed  at  length, 
And  buried  deep  in  gray  oblivion's  sands  ; 
The  work  that  heroes'  hands 
Wrought  in  the  light  of  freedom's  natal  day 
Shall  never  fade  away, 
But  lifts  itself,  sublime, 
Into  a  lucid  sphere, 
For  ever  still  and  clear, 

And  far  above  the  devastating  breath  of  Time ; 
Preserving  in  the  memory  of  the  fathers'  deed, 
A  never-failing  fortress  for  their  children's 

need. 
There  we  confirm  our  hearts  to-day  ;  and  there 

we  read, 

On  many  a  stone,  the  signature  of  fame, 
The  builders'  mark,  our  Alma  Mater's  name. 


80 


IX 

Bear  'with  us  then  a  moment,  if  we  turn 
From  all  the  present  splendours  of  this  place  — 
The  lofty  towers  that  like  a  dream  have  grown 
Where  once  old  Nassau  Hall  stood  all  alone  — 
Back  to  that  ancient  time,  with  hearts  that  burn 
In  filial  reverence  and  pride,  to  trace 

The  glory  of  our  mother's  best  degree, 

In  that  "high  son  of  Liberty," 

Who  like  a  granite  block, 

Riven  from  Scotland's  rock, 
Stood  loyal  here  to  keep  Columbia  free. 
Born  far  away  beyond  the  ocean's  roar, 
He  found  his  fatherland  upon  this  shore  ; 
And  every  drop  of  ardent  blood  that  ran 
Through  his  great  heart,  was  true  American. 
He  held  no  weak  allegiance  to  a  distant  throne, 
But  made  his   new-found  country's  cause  his 
own. 

In  peril  and  distress, 

In  toil  and  weariness, 

When  darkness  overcast  her 

With  shadows  of  disaster, 

And  voices  of  confusion 

Proclaimed  her  hope  delusion, 

Robed  in  his  preacher's  gown, 

He  dared  the  danger  down ; 
Like  some  old  prophet  chanting  an  inspired  rune 
Through  freedom's  councils  rang  the  voice  of 
Witherspoon. 


8: 


And  thou,  my  country,  write  it  on  thy  heart, 
Thy  sons  are  they  who  nobly  take  thy  part ; 
"Who  dedicates  his  manhood  at  thy  shrine, 
Wherever  born,  is  born  a  son  of  thine  ; 
Foreign  in  name,  but  not  in  soul,  they  come 
To  find  in  thee  their  long-desired  home  ; 
Lovers  of  liberty  and  haters  of  disorder, 
They  shall  be  built  in  strength  along  thy  border. 
Ah,  dream  not  that  thy  future  foes 
Will  all  be  foreign-born  ! 
Turn  thy  clear  look  of  scorn 
Upon  the  children  who  oppose 
Their  passions  wild  and  policies  of  shame 
To  wreck  the  righteous  splendour  of  thy  name. 
Untaught  and  overconfident  they  rise, 
With  folly  on  their  lips  and  envy  in  their  eyes : 
Strong  to  destroy,  but  powerless  to  create, 
And  ignorant  of  all  that  made  our  fathers  great, 
Their  hands  would  take  away  thy  golden  crown, 
And  shake  the  pillars  of  thy  freedom  down 
In  Anarchy's  ocean,  dark  and  desolate. 
O  should  that  storm  descend, 
What  fortress  shall  defend 
The  land  our  fathers  wrought  for, 
The  liberties  they  fought  for  ? 
What  bulwark  shall  secure 
Her  shrines  of  law,  and  keep  her  founts  of  jus- 
tice pure  ? 
Then,  ah  then, 
As  in  the  olden  days, 
The  builders  must  upraise 
A  rampart  of  indomitable  men. 


82 


Once  again, 

Dear  Mother,  if  thy  heart  and  hand  be  true, 
There  will  be  building  work  for  thee  to  do ; 

Yea,  more  than  once  again, 

Thou  shalt  win  lasting  praise, 
And  never-dying  honour  shall  be  thine, 
For  setting  many  stones  in  that  illustrious  line, 
To  stand  unshaken  in  the  swirling  strife, 
And  guard  their  country's  honour  as  her  life. 


Softly,  my  harp,  and  let  me  lay  the  touch 
Of  silence  on  these  rudely  clanging  strings ; 

For  he  who  sings 
Even  of  noble  conflicts  overmuch, 
Loses  the  inward  sense  of  better  things ; 

And  he  who  makes  a  boast 
Of  knowledge,  darkens  that  which  counts  the 

most,  — 

The  insight  of  a  wise  humility 
That  reverently  adores  what  none  can  see. 

The  glory  of  our  life  below 
Comes  not  from  what  we  do,  or  what  we  know, 
But  dwells  forevermore  in  what  we  are. 
There  is  an  architecture  grander  far 
Than  all  the  fortresses  of  war, 
More  inextinguishably  bright 
Than  learning's  lonely  towers  of  light. 
Framing  its  walls  of  faith  and  hope  and  love 
In  deathless  souls  of  men,  it  lifts  above 
The  frailty  of  our  earthly  home 

An  everlasting  dome  ; 
The  sanctuary  of  the  human  host, 
The  living  temple  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 


XI 

If  music  led  the  builders  long  ago, 

When  Arthur  planned  the  halls  of  Camelot, 
And  made  the  mystic  city  swiftly  grow, 
Like  some  strange  flower  in  that  forsaken 

spot; 

What  sweeter  music  shall  we  bring, 
To  weave  a  harmony  divine 

Of  prayer  and  holy  thought 
Into  the  labours  of  this  loftier  shrine, 

This  consecrated  hill, 
Where  through  so  many  a  year 
Our  Mother's  faithful  hand  hath  wrought, 
With  toil  serene  and  still, 
And  heavenly  hope,  to  rear 
The  eternal  dwelling  of  the  Only  King? 

Here  let  no  martial  trumpets  blow, 
Nor  instruments  of  pride  proclaim 
The  loud  exultant  notes  of  fame  ! 
But  let  the  chords  be  clear  and  low, 
And  let  the  anthem  deeper  grow, 
And  let  it  move  more  solemnly  and  slow, 

Like  that  which  came 
From  angels'  lips  when  first  they  hymned  their 

Maker's  name ; 
For  only  such  an  ode 
Can  seal  the  harmony 
Of  that  deep  masonry 

Wherein  the  soul  of  man  is  framed  for  God's 
abode. 


XII 

O  Thou  whose  boundless  love  bestows 
The  joy  of  life,  the  hope  of  Heaven  ; 

Thou  whose  unchartered  mercy  flows 
O'er  all  the  blessings  Thou  hast  given ; 

Thou  by  whose  light  alone  we  see  ; 

Thou  by  whose  truth  our  souls  set  free 

Are  made  imperishably  strong ; 

Hear  Thou  the  solemn  music  of  our  song. 

Grant  us  the  knowledge  that  we  need 
To  solve  the  questions  of  the  mind ; 

Light  Thou  our  candle  while  we  read, 
And  keep  our  hearts  from  going  blind  ; 

Enlarge  our  vision  to  behold 

The  wonders  Thou  hast  wrought  of  old  ; 

Reveal  thyself  in  every  law, 

And  gild  the  towers  of  truth  with  holy  awe. 

Be  Thou  our  strength  when  war's  wild  gust 
Rages  around  us,  loud  and  fierce  ; 

Confirm  our  souls  and  let  our  trust 
Be  like  a  wall  that  none  can  pierce ; 

Give  us  the  courage  that  prevails, 

The  steady  faith  that  never  fails, 

Help  us  to  stand  in  every  fight 

Firm  as  a  fortress  to  defend  the  right. 


86 


O  God,  make  of  us  what  Thou  wilt ; 

Guide  Thou  the  labour  of  our  hand  ; 
Let  all  our  work  be  surely  built 

As  Thou,  the  architect,  hast  planned ; 
But  whatsoe'er  thy  power  shall  make 
Of  these  frail  lives,  do  not  forsake 
Thy  dwelling.     Let  thy  presence  rest 
For  ever  in  the  temple  of  our  breast. 


Printed  for   Charles   Scribner's  Sons,  at  the 
University  Press,  Cambridge,  Massachusetts. 

First  Edition,  March,  1897  ;   Second  Edition, 
September,  1897  ;  Third  Edition,  March,  1898. 


This  bo/k  is  DUE  on  the  last 
:  stamped  below. 


J.Jff  , 


10M-1  1-50(2555)  470 


REMINGTON  RAND  -  2O 


THE  LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


3  1158007905788 


po 

5117     Van  Dyke  - 

B86       Builders 

1898 


PS 
3117 

B86 
1898 


